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The Fall of the Aubeanic Reign (The Unused Chapters): Book 1 - Landyt's hospitality
Chapter I: Regret Niall didn't get a wink of sleep that night, the hollow feeling in his stomach, the clenching in his chest and the aching in the bridge of his nose. All of which worked together to make sure of this. The Young Dunmer's eyes would occasionally fill up with tears, that would slowly cascade horizontally across his face. He hadn't the physical strength to sit up as the guilt gnawed away at him, eating away at his nerves and muscles, ensuring that he remained in this near vegetative state, like he was locked in. His eyes glanced up, checking to see if his glutinous cellmate's hunger had been sated. He still felt some resentment towards her, not so much for not caring but feigning it to get his gruel. He didn't care about food as he would have just thrown it up and he probably refused another bowl if it was handed to him. Once again his eyes returned to Mona as she lay opposite him, curled up on the floor. She looked... Strangely happy... Her legs slowly kicked, shuffling along the ground as she dreamt of something, most likely freedom or mybe revisiting her childhood, frolicking with friends, family, loved ones or maybe a lover. He went back to his depressed slump as he felt that young Bosmer's fingers interlocked with his. He didn't know why he took her hand, she wasn't the closest member of the group. Perhaps it was the distance that made him feel safer or... Maybe it was her...? Whatever was his subconscious reason for grabbing that girl's hand, he dwelled on it for the entirety of his first night in Landyt's hospitality. As he closed up his hand, he felt the bosmer's fingers interlock with his own. His heart sank to his stomach and his gut ached as he dwelled on the kindness they had shown him, giving him a bed for the night, hell, giving several people a bed for the night. And he got them killed... As he found himself more familiar with this fact, he found himself feeling even worse, making him ask himself more questions... 'Was it quick?' 'Did they suffer?' 'Will they forgive him?" Chapter II: Cloak, Dagger and Payment It had reached midnight in the Hammerfell town of Elinhir, there a young, Redguard Man sat, lent against the back wall. His left hand and elbow rested on the wooden dinner table as his face was illuminated by the warm, orange glow of a candle to his right. The man looked around thirty, though he was actually older, much older. His hair was slicked back into corn rows and he had an intense scar across his face. His beard was trimmed in the 'dead man's hand' style, which he always found to be fitting, given his curse. The man wore a Hammerfell style leather vest and a long sleeveless coat, which was torn at the bottom, giving him that rogue image. Though his skin was dark, like most Redguards, it also had a very slight tinge of grey... It wasn't all that noticeable, from a long distance but it had caused him a few problems over the years. Ever since Landyt's occupation of Skyrim, many have found themselves fearing fallen infiltration, the idea of sub race of walking corpses, like vampires or werewolves, creatures that blended in society and masqueraded as humans until the opportune time frightened the people of Hammerfell, High Rock, Cyrodiil and Morrowind. This fear of the undead was especially prominent in Bruma and other places like it. Basically, anywhere close to the boarder, where the conditions were very similar, unchanged even to that of Skyrim. The Fallen have never made such an attack before, normally the fog would do the work for them or Landyt would just send his floating ships to clean house. As far as most people who studied the Fallen were aware, they don't ever leave Skyrim, a fact that comforts some and terrifies others. The Redguard found himself neither comforted or terrified, just... bored. Where the hell did he get to? He thought, fixing his eyes on the door. It was then, as if his employer had sensed his mood, that he saw the door open, the gnarled wood creaked and groaned as it was lifted off of the hinges and slowly opened, revealing a much older looking Redguard man, in a mix between ceremonial and official robes. "Cyrus... Kodlak?" His voice was strong and quite powerful, yet slightly timid as he knew who was talking to. "Yeah, that's me." The 'younger' Redguard replied, quite casually as he got up to greet the old man, who swiftly shut the door behind him and approached Cyrus, pulling his hood back and showing his balding head. "I'm glad that you could come..." He began hurriedly as if he expected disaster to strike at any moment. "Not like I had much of a choice, the people at your office should work on their interpersonal skills." Cyrus mocked, drawing the harshly worded letter from his coat pocket and waving it in the air, like a fan. The Redguard then slammed it down on the table before sitting back and folding his arms. "You got a speech planned? I think you should get to it now..." "R-Right..." The Official muttered, not knowing what was in the letter as he didn't' write it personally. Hit interviewee took control, gesturing with his hand to the seat opposite. The representative gave Cyrus a nervous nod as he wandered around the table and slowly lowered himself onto the seat opposite. "Mr Kodlak, I understand that we haven't been exactly... Hospitable to you, over the last six months..." "That's an understatement." Cyrus mocked, sitting back and grinning in his chair. If he was to be honest about the whole thing, he'd probably admit that he had just come here to turn him down, face to face. That letter was the final nail in the coffin as far as civility was concerned. Still, he thought he'd dignify the old far with a verbal refusal at least. "Cyrus... I understand that you may have been a little... Insulted. But your help is crucial to our survival." This was enough to surprise and even intrigue Cyrus as his eyes widened and he lent forward. This man, who sat before him was so vain that he didn't even dress down out of his robes to be incognito. There was no way in Oblivion that this proud fool would admit a truth like that unless it was the truth. It was odd as this realization brought no comfort to him, it actually made him feel even more uneasy. "I thought you eggheads had it all under control." Cyrus replied, without any trace of mockery this time as he was still in shock from the 'we need your help' line. "N-No... The truth is? We can't pin this thing down, sometimes its airborne, sometimes its not. We've had cases where whole households have fallen but one person survives. One 'lucky' person, surviving the plague that killed their parents, siblings and making it out unscathed. How do you fight something like this?" Cyrus obviously didn't have an answer, all he could do was look up to the nearest bookshelf and read the spines to distract himself. Beggar prince, Dragonborn, Confessions of a Skooma Addict, the second Oblivion Crisis, Two Timing in the Tiber Septim, The Mysterious Merchant ''and the newest one in the series, written with the notes found by her great, great, great, etc granddaughter, who has taken up writing herself, the feedbag fantasy... "Mr Kodlak?" Cyrus snapped out of it, getting hit with a battering ram of reality once more, shaking his head and turning his attention back to his... Associate. "The point is..." The councillor began, sounding incredibly impatient at this point, "That in order for us to survive, we're going to need... We'll need your gift." "Gift?" 'Mr Kodlak' chuckled, sitting back in his chair. "That ain't what you've been callin' it for the last... six months. Everyone out there who's gotten 'emselves two feet away from me has said that I'm Fallen." The councilor was afraid of this and if it wasn't for the fact that he needed this man, he would have given up trying to earn his favor, long ago. "I'm sorry, Cyrus, but I can't control rumors." "The hell you can't! Man, the thing I've done for you people! I helped kill some damn dragon priest, crazy Wiz..." He hung his head and winced, an involuntary shot of rage, whenever he thought about... him. "I lost my best friend for you people, for Akatosh's sake!" This left the other Redguard in a state of awe, Cyrus was rumored to be so... calm and collected, one look at him and you'd accept those rumors as fact and yet here he was, losing it over something, something traumatic, from the sounds of it but... still... Cyrus realized that his mountainous exterior had erupted, unleashing the pent up anger of the sixteen year old Redguard trapped inside. He fell back, into his chair and sighed heavily, running his hand down his face, the ghostly hand on his face tickled his palms and fingertips. "I... Know, that you have been through a lot Cyrus and that is why I am offering you this chance to work for the people of Hammerfell, proving that not only are you not a threat but that you are also on their side." "Why do I gotta prove that?" The Scarred Redguard asked, raising an eyebrow. He was obviously insulted by the notion as that sounded like... like the officials had accepted the rumours of him being one of the Fallen as truth. he was obviously insulted by the notion as that sounded like he was being forced to 'give back.' "I ain't got anything to '''give back, the people have been looking at me, like I'm part daedra." "I am aware that the people here haven't exactly been treating you fairly. But they need you. We all do... There was a long pause, that hung in the air as Cyrus and this man, who was a complete puzzle, sat in silence as Cyrus dwelled on the desperation of the councilman. There were moments where the man spoke with genuine respect, though Cyrus knew that this was most likely to win him over, fill him with patriotic pride and then dump him in the frozen tundra of Skyrim. He didn't plan to fall for such a rus. "Why? What do you 'need' me for?" He finally decided to ask, falling back into his chair and getting ready for the older man's pitch. The older man took this chance and stood up as he slowly began to pace around the room, building up a series of words in his head. The truth, the more manageable truth, some lies for effect... "According to my scholars, you suf-" He paused to think of a more delicate phrase. "Your... Condition, stems from a condition very similar to Corpuss, a condition that plagued Morrowind during thir blight, in the 3rd Era... This... if my scholars are right, makes you... unique." Cyrus shrugged, he wasn't exactly special as similar things had been done like this before. In fact, didn't the Nervarine, Azura's champion 'suffer' from the same condition? Hermaes Mora inflicted it on him and it wasn't something he wanted, even then. "Cyrus, these creatures, the 'Fallen,' they suffer from a similar condition." He then stopped himself, realising that he'd just abandoned his delicate approach. "Corpus and people who have come into contact with it, is a similar condition to the point that we believe that you might be immune to the blight." Cyrus gave a faint smile at this, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, with a smirk. He knew where he was going with this, he was so lurgied up that the blight wouldn't affect him, they'd end him into Skyrim, a suicide mission and rest easy, knowing that he would return to his own kind. "So... You want me to hop the boarder and go, live with the zombies?" Now it was the councillor's turn to be dissapointed, he sighed, heavily and brought his hands to his eyes. "Cyrus, if I wanted- if we wanted, you would have been sent away months ago. This isn't banishment, we have a purpose for sending you over the boarder and we can't force you to do it." Cyrus' eyes continued to fix on the councilman, narrowing as they stared him down. They both knew the truth, if they could hold the rogue to ransom, threaten his home, family or even his life, then they would have done it ages ago but Cyrus cared for nobody or no thing, he'd outlived his loved ones and had no propety or social status of his own. They couldn't even threaten to kill the Redguard as he had wanted to die for centuries, they'd be doing him a favor, if they did that... Killing him would be granting him a blessing, a mercy even... Despite all of this, the silent insults, the lack of respect, the dithering idiot sent to insult him further... He still felt inclined to help... Cyrus sighed and slowly sat up, causing the Councillor to give him a surprised glare, a hopeful gaze, like a trapped animal begging for help. Still, Cyrus remained silent, his left and right brain were at an impasse, currently in session, aggressively debating as to whether or not they should proceed. Eventually, the Rogue sat up and looked him in the face. "Say if I... Were to agree to this." He began, carefully... "What would you need me to do?" The Councillor was so shocked that he lost his words, it took him a few moments of bumbling to get to his point. "We... Believe that the recent plague could well be a product of our neighbors." "Landyt's new weapon or something?" "N-No, Landyt hasn't made any threats to Hammerfell or High Rock, only to Morrowind and that was more to Tiberionus than to Morrowind itself. We believe that the plague is an unintended side effect of Landyt's blight." He sighed, heavily as he began to scratch his head, swaying from side to side as he continued to think on how to process his request. "Cyrus... We believe that the fallen carry the plague." The 'younger' Redguard narrowed his brow, finally having some idea as to where he was going with this. "And you want me to, what, kill all of the Fallen?" The way that Cyrus asked the question implied that he was mocking the idea but the smile soon left his face as he saw the frown on the older Redguard. That's exactly what he wanted him to do. "Wait... You're kidding right?" Cyrus asked, his eyes bulged as he felt his entire body go cold. "That ain't..." He paused, thinking some more on it. Tiberionus had been fighting them for years, decades even but the Fallen just don't die. Well, they do die, in the hundreds, thousands even... But... The dead will always outnumber the living... "Of course, we don't expect you to kill them all in combat." The Elder added, with a slight smile, a weary one, one that was forced to hide his true feelings of exhaustion and despair. "Like the events of twenty years ago, when the Blighted Knight took Falkreath, the Fallen will die out if their leader is slain." Cyrus continued to stare, that somehow sounded even more impossible... Kill Landyt? Nobody even knows where he is and even if they did know what city he dwelled in, the fog was so thick and intense, that they'd never find it. Not to mention the thousands of Fallen between the Hammerfell boarder and Landyt himself and the fact that his ship can fly and the fact that Landyt isn't a man to be screwed with, fallen or no. "Yeah?" Cyrus asked, his tone mocked the proposition, saying 'is that all?' "Look, if you wanted me to die that badly..." "This isn't about you, Cyrus, this is about us about our survival!" The Elder Snapped, finding himself losing control again as the sheer desperation over faced him. "We are facing a crisis Cyrus! One that gets worse, every day! We're digging mass graves for citizens, every day, burning villages to the ground! Every day it's getting worse!" He gasped, leaning on the table nad clutching it as he took several deep breaths to calm down. "So you're exiling me? Sending me on a suicide mission, to kill some crazy Pirate Captain? Killing the Fallen ain't going to get rid of this plague." "Maybe not but there's more to it than that... If the Fallen can indeed catch this plague, then that puts High Rock and Cyrodiil at risk. Not only are they at risk of accidental contamination but we're also at risk of them... Purging us..." "Purging?" "It is more than possible that the leaders of High Rock and the Empress herself may see fit as to join in." The Elder explained, his brow wrinkled as he did so, his eyes were tired and swollen, from where he hadn't slept in weeks, revising this possibility inside his head. "But the worst case scenario? If the Fallen are carrying the plague and Landyt finds out? He'll likely infect his entire army." "Wh-What? Why?" "This flu would be the perfect upper hand in his in his war against Tiberionus. A biological weapon, that can take out thousands of people at a time and growing his numbers. Whether Landyt knows this or not, he has the potential to creat an unstoppable force, he could potentially spread his influence across the world, like wildfire!" Cyrus listened intently, still processing all the doom and gloom. The Elder leaned forward, placing both of his hands firmly on the table. "Do you now see what is at stake? This isn't about you or me or even Hammerfell itself anymore! Tamriel, maybe even the entirety of Nirn is at stake! Frederick Landyt must die!" Chapter III: Landyt's hospitality Mona's vision blurred as her eyes slowly opened, her knuckles and hands ached from where she had rested her head on them. She winced as she pulled her head up, feeling a tingling sensation as circulation returned to her hands as she sat up and observed the indentations on them. She took her left index finger and ran it along the groves that the floorboards had made in the back of her hands. She smiled as she ran her finger through the crease, twitching her right fingers in response. The half-breed's eyes then moved across the room and soon found themselves to be fixated on Niall, who lay half dead, in front of her. The Dunmer spent the entire night staring into the dark, going mad with boredom and finding himself to be growing more and more agitated. He lay, like a corpse, eyes fixed dead ahead as if he was looking into the dark void of death. The Half-breed cautiously got up and wandered over to him, sneaking up on him to ensure that he didn't suddenly wake up and lash out at her. For once, she seemed to be glad that she was 'enjoying' Landyt's hospitality as he wouldn't let her get attacked by another prisoner, at least she didn't think that he would. Still, Niall didn't look like the type that would hit out at her, he was far too deep in a depressed trance to lash out and even if he did, the boy was skin and bone, she could probably overpower him easily. His own eye followed her as she loomed over him but it didn't linger, at least not for long. "Hey..." She whispered before glancing away, awkwardly. "You okay?" The small, red island in the Dunmer's eye found its way back to her, once again it glared before returning back to the wall, silently saying No. "Don't worry, it's not too bad here, they leave you alone, most of the time." Niall just rolled over and faced the wall, turning his back to her as he shut her out, along with the rest of the world. "S-So... Mona muttered as she began to get the feeling that this wasn't going so well. "You got a name?" She did her best to keep up her usually cheery attitude but it seemed to be wasted on this one. "You can have my food, when it comes..." Niall mumbled in response, hoping to appease her and grant himself a bit of peace, it was worth the sacrifice of his evening meal. Mona sighed, making a mental note of striking You gonna eat that?' off her list of greetings. To be honest, Niall had been an answered prayer as she had spent two weeks in solitary confinement. Having a 'playmate' felt like a good thing, too bad she blew it... The Half-Breed glanced across the room, wondering if she could salvage their relationship. "Well, I'm Mona and you are?" She couldn't see but Niall began to frown, creasing his brow as he resisted the urge to moan in frustration. In the end, the Dunmer caved, at least a conversation achieves something, rather than having to put up with this Half-Breed's desperate attempts to start a conversation. His right shoulder ached as he rolled off of it and felt guilty for sulking, when she was antisocial and then punishing her fro trying to make amends and conversation. "I'm Niall..." He whispered, giving her a tired smile before yawning and blinking a few times as he went back to gazing ahead, seeming more tired than depressed or bitter. Did you get any sleep last night?" There was a long pause as Niall tried to recall, the easiest answer and the partly truthful answer would be 'no' but the long and more accurate answer was, of course... "I don't... I don't know..." He might have gotten a few minutes, unintentionally. For a foments, he might have forgotten that he was a coward, who didn't deserve such luxuries, such as sleep and food. "You... Don't know?" The Bosmeri-Imperial asked, in confusion. How could he 'not know? ''well, whatever he got, it clearly wasn't enough. "I'm... Sorry, I should've been more supportive, I know how hard it is, first night." Niall glanced away, noticing how ridiculous that statement sounded, when he heard it aloud. She didn't know him, she didn't even know his name, why should '''she give a damn? "It's fine... I was just a little..." He paused and gave a sigh, the shudder broke it up. He thought that he could control it a little better than this, it must be the guild, bubbling up and erupting, like the volcano that destroyed his supposed homeland. 'Mona placed her hand on his shoulder as he began to express some concern. "It's okay... You're on a Galleon, owned by a crew of undead pirates; I... think that's a pretty good thing to be afraid of." "I'm not... afraid..." He 'admitted' with a sigh as he looked up to the ceiling. "Hehe... Then you don't know where you are then." Mona chuckled looking up to the window. "I'm on a ship..." Niall recalled an educated guess based on the fact that he had been captured by pirates. "N-Not just any ship..." The Half Breed began but Niall cut her off, not wanting to hear the Pirate Captain's rehearsed bravado relayed back to him. The Dunmer just raised his hand to cut her off... "I don't care who the captain is, a ship is a ship..." Mona smiled, solemnly as she found herself agreeing with him. "True... But, still, this ship's somewhat special." She countered, with a smile as she sat next to his head. "In what way?" The Mage was somewhat curious now as it had to be something good. "Listen..." Mona whispered, leaning over him. "What do you hear?" Niall frowned and listened out himself. There was a creak in the bow, he could feel the slight sway of the sea... But he didn't hear a thing. "N-Nothing... I don't hear anything." "Exactly..." "S-So... We're still flying?" Niall asked, remembering how he was captured." "F-oh... You knew? Damn, I was looking forward to seeing the look on your face, when you found out." Niall couldn't help but laugh, it would have shocked him to, had he have found out that way, unfortunately, he saw the outside of the ship first. He tilted his head back and looked Mona in the face, giving her a smile. "Good to know you care..." He mocked, giving her a grin as she gave him a warm smile in return. Mona continued to watch him, long after he went back to looking ahead at the window and enjoying daylight for the first time in, what felt like, a century. His eyes could no longer be held open by will, no matter how little he deserved it, he needed to sleep. "You can go to sleep, if you want... I'll watch out for you." Mona whispered, falling back against the wall as she sighed, looking down on her scuffed boots and sighing, longing for freedom... Strangely, she didn't miss home, home was but a distant memory and though she loved her father, Rik and Dia... She didn't really miss home. Being in danger was so much more fun and for the first time in twenty years... She was alive... "Y'know..." She began, looking down and expecting two attentive eyes looking back at her. To no one's surprise but her own, she saw that Niall had nodded off. He lay, snoozing, looking peaceful for the first time since she lad eyes on him, it almost made her... Happy. The Half-Breed decided to keep her promise, she got comfortable and acted as her cellmate's guardian. She glanced to the right and saw a seagull fly past, instantly feeling somewhat resentful towards it for being so free. Still... She had someone to talk to now and possibly, just maybe... A friend... Chapter IV: The Chosen Landyt continued to dwell in his study, slowly returning to reality as his fingers grazed the arms of his chair. He had the boy, locked up and contained as he made his way to the newly constructed Imperia Tower. The tower was but a tree stump, compared to the grand sight of its predecessor, the white gold tower but it was likely that it would be built on even further, when Arrianna had settled in. The Pirate Captain watched it on the horizon, grinning and bearing his black, rotten teeth as he did so. He knew little about his new 'guest,' just that he had some connection to the companionship that defeated Telemachus and saved the world. Landyt, like Tiberionus, was given a list of names with high prices on their heads. Isis Oakvale, Cyrus Harin, Eilonwyn 'Julie' Halison, Jaryl Oakvale, Telim Oakvale, Agatha Tira and a few others, who are rumored to be dead. Landyt had better things to do with his time than fly around looking for a bunch of illiterate yahoos to be kidnapped. He only took Niall, because Arrianne specifically requested it. The boy was harmless and capturing him pretty much confirmed his suspicions that he wasn't a threat. The fact that he was kidnapped to satisfy Morgan's for revenge just proved how pointless going after those other fools would be, especially with with the war going on. As his eyes returned to the new capital, he felt a powerful gust of wind hit him, which blew back the tails on his coat and the thin, lifeless hairs on his head. His milky, soulless, eyes continued to stare on, into the distance. The reward money should be enough to turn the tide of this war, giving him the tools to bury Tiberionus and his pitiful resistance. It was rare that all of the collaboration met in the same room, though when they did, a truce was always declared, so that the meeting wouldn't break out into a fight to the death. Landyt didn't understand why, his feud with Tiberionus could be solved in the space of an hour. Perhaps Arrianne just feared the floor of her new war room being ruined by the fowl blood, bits of brain matter and skull fragments of the Dunmeri Usurper. Landyt looked up to the moon and stars, his tired, undead eyes continued to dwell on them as he thought about arriving at Tower Morgan, as he often referred to it as, he could never be bothered to memorize its true name. Such things were below him. His ship was just about to enter the city; the bow was just about to enter the boundaries of imperia. A rhythm of heavy foot steps could be heard as his first mate approached from behind. His first mate was a Nord Woman, who looked just as dead as he did, the circles under her eyes weren't as dark as his, a sort of dark grey colour compared to Landyt's pitch black eye sockets and nose. She came up behind him and stood by his side. She was the only member of his crew who had the nerve to take her place by his side. "Quiet night tonight." She noted aloud, glancing up to her Captain, who seemed to be ignoring her, though she knew that he was listening, he was always listening... "It's Cyrdoiil..." He pointed out, with a hint of frustration in his voice. "It's always 'quiet' here." His right hand nodded and returned her attention back out to the skies in front. "Do you have something to report?" The Pirate Captain hoped to cut through the small talk, since it only annoyed him. His right hand looked back out, onto the horizon, seeing that the ship had long since entered new Imperia and sooner or later, you'll be able to reach out and touch it but after hearing, he probably wouldn't get the chance. "There's... Something happening in Markarth..." This did get his attention as nothing 'happens' in his lands. The lack of life kept people out, anyone stupid enough to enter were often slaughtered. Still, Markarth was a boarder city and the Breton of the Reach have been hoping to reclaim it for... centuries now. "What?" Landyt sounded reserved and quite calm, despite the revelation. "I-we... Don't know but Mervik has seen it." Landyt just scoffed at the name, obviously finding it difficult to take the old fool's advice seriously. Mervik was the crew's wizard, a hermit who had spent the best part of two hundred years living on his own, it did him not much good. Not only is he forgetful and completely mad, waking up at three AM and screaming curses at the dark, zoning out for minutes at a time, mid sentence and confining himself to one of the prison cells in case he saw a horror from his past, in the shape of an irreplaceable ornament and he broke it in fear but he was also a mage and to an old Nord, this was the most repulsive thing about him. Still, even if he did detest him, he didn't distrust him, if Mervik saw something, then he had no reason to doubt him. Something was happening in Markarth and whatever it was, he had to go back and stop it. "Change course for Skyrim." "What about the boy?" "He's not going anywhere..." Landyt entered the door, just right of the Captain's deck and began his descent, his boots clipped and clopped as he got deeper and depper to the bottom of his ship. "Fredrick..." A voice inside his head hissed, prompting him to grunt and reach up for his forehead. Liar... "Sh-Shut up!" He shrieked, snapping his head up and aggressively looking around for the source of the voice, strangely, they were always gone, when he did this. He continued to pant, regaining his strength and sanity as he did so..." "Bastard phantoms..." He seethed before continuing to the old man's study. ---- The Dread Captain slowly opened the door, listening to the loud, pained creak of the hinges as he did so. The wooden slab, that resembled a door, moved aside and revealed the study inside. The study was a dark room, dimly lit by a few melted candles that had gone yellow due to their age and lack of use. The room was incredibly cluttered, something that Landyt would normally forebode but Mavrik seemed to get a free pass as telling the mad bastard to clean up would be a waste of time. Besides, this way something might slide off a shelf and hit the old coot on the head, which would be a massive stroke of luck. Sadly, none of the princes or the nine divines have ever granted him this small mercy. He stepped into the Fallen Wizard's room and sought him out, finding it difficult to locate him, due to the poor lighting. The study wasn't all that furnished, it had a chair and a bureau and several desks, which pretty much served as counter tops. All work services had long since been buried under a huge mound of papers and books. Landyt pushed his way to the center of the room, brushing past the stacks as he made his way inside. "Mavrik!?" He called out, in an authoritative growl, growing tired of playing hide and seek with him. There was a sound of hurried footsteps, in response as Mavrik emerged from the washroom. "Ma-Master?" The jittery, old, Bosmer asked as he stepped out of the dark, revealing his ancient, hollow face, large purple rings in his eye sockets, a heavily blistered lip, with several pox marks around the mouth and several creases on his forehead, going over his wrinkled, bald head. The most disturbing part about his appearance was the fact that his skull was open, the top of his cranium flapped on the top of his head, like an open treasure chest. If it was a chest of some sort, then it would be keeping little more than an old, shriveled lump of brain matter inside, which was badly damaged, due to exposure. According to his ramblings, he is one of the 'risen,' a Fallen, who was resurrected by Landyt's corruption. Few risen remember their resurrection and those who do are driven mad by it. Mavrik had been dead for centuries before he was resurrected. According to him, he was a well respected scholar of the Mages' Guild but this was some time ago, back when the College of Winterhold was part of the guild. If he wasn't so powerful, Landyt would have let him be arch mage there but sadly he was too vital... Also, embarrassing... It hasn't been tested but some say that he matches the power of Aratius Morgan or Dufont... Of course, that rumour was started by Landyt himself, just to strike some fear into Tiberionus, which wouldn't a difficult task, due to the fact that he is probably afraid of his own shadow. "What can I do for you, Master?" His trembling voice asked, shattering Landyt's trail of thought, like a wrecking ball against glass. "I'm not your Master..." The Pirate Captain seethed, folding his arms and staring Mavrik in the face. "You said you had news for me?" "I did?" The Old Mage asked, running his hand over his unhinged cranium and scratching it as he tried to recall. "O-Oh yeah! Markarth!" The Bosmer hastily shuffled over to his desk, where he found some of his notes before turning back to his 'master' and shuffling over to him. He handed Landyt the stack of papers, which he immediately ignored, looking to Mavrik for a summary. Landyt often pretended that he couldn't read, a tightly kept secret that was only known by Melisa, his right hand. She didn't find out until his previous right hand, Morales, let it slip and got himself beaten to death before her very eyes. It would have made more sense to kill her, to contain the secret but Melisa was innocent of any wrongdoing or failure and it wouldn't have been right for her to die, because of Morales' fuck up, Landyt didn't suffer fools but he wasn't completely unthinking or heartless. "M-My sight's gone..." The Bosmer mumbled, tapping the vacant eye socket, on his left. This confused Landyt, as Mavrik gave up his eye and bound it to the Fallen of Skyrim. If he concentrated, he could see through the eyes of any Fallen or Risen in Skyrim. "What do you mean? You talkin' your right eye or you left?" "Neither, I'm talking Markarth, every Fallen has..." The Bosmer cut out, into an unintelligible mumble as he zoned out, staring into space. "..." "Mavrik?" "..." "Mavrik!?" "... Yeah? ..." "MAVRIK!?" This got the old man to jump, making his open skull cap fly open before slamming back down again, he rubbed at it furiously. Everything came back to him as he looked around, several hundred years worth of history catching up with him. He slowly turned back, realizing that he blanked out, mid sentence again... "I... I'm sorry captain, I must've..." "Enough! What's happening to my people!?" "R-Right... Well... You see, I've... I... Seem to have lost contact." Landyt stepped forward, giving Mavrik his usual, psychotic, unbalanced stare. This wasn't exactly making him feel any better... "They... Seem to be asleep. I'm not sure what's going on or how it happened but they're all asleep." "Then wake 'em..." "I'd... We'd have to go down there and revive them but..." "Bu-ut?" "From what I can tell, we're going to need protection as I'm sure that the same thing will happen to us." Landyt nodded, trusting Mavrik's judgement, he knew that Landyt didn't tolerate people pissing him about, unnecessarily. "And I'll need a crew member, to use as a test subject." The Nord nodded, heading towards the door, not even bothering to ask as he knew where to go. Landyt marched up to the top deck, appearing behind the helmsman, like a spectre. "Set course for Winterhold..." "Aye aye, Sir!" Chapter V: Brothers in binds Niall awoke, two days after slipping into his deep sleep, his eyes opened as he enjoyed his two seconds of bliss, where the morning haze scattered his memories of who he was before reality came crashing down on him and the disappointment kicked in. He slowly sat up, like one of the Risen, yawning as he did so. This got Mona’s attention as Niall was the least predictable thing in the room and, by default, the most exciting. The Dunmer began to rub his eyes, immediately wishing that he hadn't woken up as he got up on shaky legs. "Morning, Happiness." She mocked swivelling her legs around and turning to face him. "Mornin,' Lady Etiquette..." He grumbled under his breath, rubbing his stiff neck as he knelt up, sighing heavily as he did so, depression hitting him like a tidal wave, a million voices whispering 'It's you!' 'Your fault!' 'Lianne's dead, because of you!' 'Her cousins, aunt and uncle are dead, because of you.' 'Should've kept on walking...' 'Spoke up sooner!' 'Coward!' He sighed again and looked back to Mona as she giggled, bringing her hand to her mouth as she did so. "How long have I been out?" The Dunmer asked, rubbing his aching neck as he did so. "About two days, I'd say." HIs half-breed cell mate shrugged, looking back to the window. "It's hard keeping track in here, to be honest." Niall nodded, taking her word on it, he didn't care enough to open up some sort of enquiry. "I feel kind of lucky, missing those two days. Seems like sleeping is the most fun that you can have around here." Mona tiredly nodded in agreement, finding herself looking back over to the window, longingly. She found herself doing that a lot lately. Niall noticed how cold it was; prompting himself to wrap his arms around his knees and shiver a little. It was strange but he found himself very easily cold, his fingers were already numb and in pain, a little." "Where... Are we?" He shivered, moving over the door, where there wasn't as much breeze. "Dunno... But the air's so cold; I'd guess that we're in Skyrim." "S-Skyrim?" He shivered, curling up in a ball and hugging his knees. "Yeah... The 'land of the dead?'" She sighed, longingly. Mona was the last generation to see Skyrim in its former glory, she remembered going up north, to visit Aunt Aerin as a kid, Aerin was a strange woman, not very talkative or expressive... She and her friends owned an inn, up in the Whiterun hold. Her mother and father sometimes took them up to visit. Jaryl wasn't all that close to his sister, apparently they didn't know each other at all until a few months before Mona and Rik were conceived and Jaryl and Isis met. This and the fact that Aerin wasn't very talkative made their relationship a little... rocky... like any contact between them was forced. Still, even though Aerin's conversations were short and a little awkward, she still somehow enjoyed visiting her more than she enjoyed visiting Telim. You see, the girls could barely keep the place going, so Mona and Rik often had to pitch in and help out around the inn. It was never a holiday, it was an adventure. She wasn't a damn princess, who got a breakfast brought to her in bed. No, she was a lodger, who had to work off her debt and get the approval of the beautiful inn owner, who took her in after she recovered from being show with an arrow and left for dead by her partner. Well, it might sound delusional and childishly silly but it made scrubbing floors fun, so who could argue against it? "I went here once... before..." She gestured to the window to illustrate her point, not that she needed to, who could forget the Fallen? The nightmarish creatures that dwell within the mass fog that is Skyrim... "This..." Niall nodded, to show that he understood, hating the idea of being trapped in a land full of undead monstrosities. "What was it like, back then?" The Dunmer decided to ask, hoping to get her talking and hopefully tell him something about herself. The truth was that Niall wasn't exactly the most confident person, his shyness and self hatred crippled his communication skills. "It... Was okay, kind of like Cyrodiil is really." Mona explained, giving him a smile. "Is that where you're from?" Niall asked, relaxing a little more as he began to notice his surroundings. There wasn't anyone else here or anything else for Mona to do, so she was pretty much stuck with him, which gave him some comfort. "Yeah, near Skingrad." The Bosmer replied, giving him a weak smile, she wasn't so much homesick as she was feeling bad. If she died out here, her family wouldn't know. "Shit... That's where I was kidnapped." Niall grinned, finding it hard not to laugh at the coincidence. "Really!?" Mona asked, in disbelief." "Pfft... Knowing my damn luck? We were probably right over my house." Niall chuckled, continuing to smile at her. "So... How'd they get you?" Mona asked, her guess would be that Niall was from Morrowind. Perhaps was Tib's child out of wedlock, who Landyt kidnapped, in the hopes of holding him to ransom. Niall sighed, asking this himself as he hung his head, memories flooding back to him. "I... Don't know..." He admitted, with a sigh. "The Captain knew my name, said he wanted me and that he'd spare my friends if I came quietly." Niall found himself drifting off into space as tears welled up in his eyes. "I gave up... and he killed them all anyway..." Mona fell silent, seeing how much this affected him, she couldn't helpt but express her sympathies. "Oh Niall..." The Dunmer sniffed and dragged his sleeve across his nose, swallowing and gasping to keep any pity at bay. "I'm okay... It's just..." He paused, realising that he really couldn't say anymore than that... "Y'know...?" "Yeah..." Mona nodded, glancing over to the side, finally seeing why he was so upset. She felt even guiltier now... "Wh-What about you? How were you caught?" Mona didn't find it difficult to admit, she didn't have any regrets, the worst she felt was a little embarrassment, for giving herself up so easily. "My Aunt has an inn in Whiterun, I was heading there, when I got nabbed." Niall was somewhat confused, that was a good explanation for how she was captured but... why was she taken aboard this ship? "Why were you brought up here?" Niall asked, sounding intregued as he sat up and turned to face her. Mona didn't have an answer, so she simply shrugged. "Dunno." She admitted, shaking her head. "Just told them my name and they brought me aboard." "How long ago was this?" The Dunmer queried, raising an eyebrow. "About a week ago... The only time they've interacted with me was to bring me food and... well, dumping you in here." "Heh... Maybe I'm supposed to be food..." Niall smirked, falling back against the wall and placing his hands behind his head. "I'd prefer mudcrab..." Mona sighed before giving a faint chuckle. "Dunmer's not that good but it goes down well with ash yams." Niall just grinned and shook his head, secretly trying to think of something else to ask his cell mate. "So..." Mona began, approaching him and sitting opposite the Dunmer, with a smile. "Where are you from?" "Camlorn, in High Rock." Mona raised an eyebrow, not expecting to hear that as not many dark elves hailed from High Rock. "So what were you doing in Cyrodiil?" Niall looked to the ground and shrugged. "I had family there... Or so I was told. Someone in Daggerfall told me that someone, with my surname, lived in Skingrad." "And that's where you were heading, when you were captured?" "Yeah... I mean, it was a long shot but it's important, y'know? My Dad always wanted to know where he came from, he spent years, trying to find my grandmother. I guess... I wanted to help him." Mona nodded, seeing what he was talking about and finding some respect for it, she'd never do anything like hopping the boarder on her Dad's behalf. She loved Jaryl, he was a good provider, great cook and he would die for any of his children or Mona's Mother, Isis but... Mona just wanted to live her life, her way. It wasn't that she was ungrateful, far from it, she just... Wanted to fly free... "Y-You said that you were with friends?" Niall responded with a pained glare before woefully nodding, turning his attention back to the floor. "I... Don't think they were my friends, I barely remember their names. They... Took me in though, gave me a roof over my head... and... In return? I got them killed." HE ended on a faint whisper before shuddering, gasping as he began to shed tears as what he had done had caught up with him. "N-Niall..." MOna whispered, shuffling over to him and reluctantly taking his hands. His flaky fingertips grazed her palms. The Dunmer glanced up to her, immediately noticing the softness of her touch. "That... Wasn't your fault..." She whispered, moving her hands over his shoulders. "L-Landyt is evil... He would have had them killed anyway... I know, because I've seen it before. You did everything you could..." "He... Didn't even... H-Have to... I was on the ship, he g-got what he wanted..." "Niall..." "I..." The Dunmer shuddered again, no longer noticing or caring that he was being held. "It should've been me..." "N-No... Don't say that..." "Thy were good people, nice, kind... Beautiful and she got killed, because of me. If I'd died instead..." "I'd be alone..." Mona finished for him, getting a startled surprise look from his as mouth moved, trying to form words. "You didn't do anything... You couldn't have done anything to stop it and... It's not like you got things good either, y'know?" "I met you, didn't I?" "Exactly!" Mona replied, in a faint whisper, giving him a faint smile as she sat down again, taking a tight grip of his hands to stop herself from falling onto her back. "Just think of how unfortunate you are." She added, with a slight smile. "Out of twenty-something cells, you get locked in here with me." Niall couldn't help but chuckle at that, he had quite a low opinion of himself to, so he found it to be somewhat amusing. "Well... I'm not exactly complaining." He sniffed, smothering the last remnants of his depression as he looked at Mona, with his teary eyes. Her amber-like yellow eyes looked straight ahead, as she sat, attentively, waiting for his next word, like a child, eagerly awaiting the next chapter of a good book. He began to sit up, feeling a little more confident as he did so. Mona was... a bit odd but she was patient and understanding... He was about to speak but soon found himself cut off by the sound of black boots, pounding the corridor outside, the two boot prints marched past their cells and went up to the end of the row of cells. "What's going on?" Niall whispered, his eyes were fixated on the door, to his right as his whole body froze in a combination of fear and alertness as he listened out. "I..." Mona winced as she head the faint screeching of hinges, up ahead. "I don't know..." She admitted before being cut off by a procession of terrified shrieks and yells as a prisoner was dragged away, to Gods know where. An even louder creak and the sound of doors slamming ended the horror, cutting it dead in its tracks. The prisoners were left alone, in silence, to contemplate what they had heard. The silence lasted for several minutes before Niall finally spoke. "Mona?" He winced, slowly turning his back to her. "I... D-Don't know what that was, it's never happened before." The Bosmer shuddered, looking him in the eyes. "M-Mona?" "It's okay... They won't get us, 'cause we'll look out for one another..." "Mona!" The Bosmer snapped out of her ramblings and looked Niall in the face, leaving a small window of opportunity to speak. "You're hurting me..." The Bosmer then glanced down to her hands and only just noticed that she had her long fingernails dug into his shoulders, she whipped them away as soon as she noticed, running her hands through her hair and looking somewhat embarrassed. "S-Sorry..." Category:Stories Category:Aubeanic Reign